


How Long Must I Wait For You

by Kkaepsongiya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Could Be Read As Pre-Slash Sterek, Derek-centric, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkaepsongiya/pseuds/Kkaepsongiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please please please, oh my god," Stiles was whispering into the phone, "please god, help me, please help me, <i>Derek please</i>." Derek ran out of the loft, stumbling over the shoelaces of his untied shoes, fumbling to get the key into the door of the Camaro. Stiles was starting to hyperventilate and Derek rushed to turn the car on, the coldness of the outdoors chilling him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Long Must I Wait For You

**Author's Note:**

> The hardest part about writing this was thinking of a title  
> The title ended up being inspired by Wildcat Wildcat's "Hero" (which I've recently gotten back into and have been playing on repeat for the past week)  
> As usual, I have not read this over at all and neither has any kind of beta

Derek is jerked out of a dream by the shrill ringing of his phone. He blinks through his tiredness and annoyance and reaches out to his bedside table, grabbing his phone with stiff fingers, sighing heavily when the caller ID reads "Stiles". One in the morning and Stiles is calling his phone—typical.

He answers the call, already telling Stiles off for disturbing his sleep when he's cut off by a broken sob and a shaky breath. He stills, saying Stiles' name questioningly into the receiver as he listens to the boy cry. Derek thinks that he can hear Stiles' heartbeat through the phone, fast, scared. Stiles sobs again and Derek says his name louder, sitting up in bed, turning so his feet are on the floor.

"Derek...Derek." Stiles sounded completely terrified and Derek rushed to get dressed, holding the phone tightly against his face. He opened his mouth to talk but Stiles started first.

"Oh my god, oh my god, I'm bleeding. There's blood, there's so much blood." Derek could feel his stomach tighten, the hair on the back of his neck standing as he pictured Stiles, wherever he was, scared and bleeding. Alone. He could barely keep himself composed, haphazardly throwing on random clothes, trying to understand Stiles' mumbling.

"Stiles, Stiles, where are you?" He could hear Stiles' shaky breathing, harsh intakes of breath, the beginning of a panic attack. "Stiles, listen to me, I need to know where you are." Derek couldn't tell if Stiles could hear him or not, the boy crying and sniffling over the line, whimpers leaving his mouth and breaking Derek's heart. A member of his pack was hurt and alone and on the verge of a panic attack—Stiles needed help and, right now, Derek was his only hope.

"Please please please, oh my god," Stiles was whispering into the phone, "please god, help me, please help me, _Derek please_." Derek ran out of the loft, stumbling over the shoelaces of his untied shoes, fumbling to get the key into the door of the Camaro. Stiles was starting to hyperventilate and Derek rushed to turn the car on, the coldness of the outdoors chilling him. He cursed, realizing that if Stiles was outside there was the risk of hypothermia. He began driving to the main road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gripping the phone.

"Stiles, I'm coming, I'm coming. I need you to tell me where you are, please." Derek could hear as Stiles dropped the phone, the boy no longer able to hold on to it with frozen fingers. Even with the phone dropped, Derek could hear Stiles' cries as if they were right next to each other. Stiles tried to pick up the phone but it fell again, his fingers too stiff to get a good grip on it. "Stiles, where are you?" Derek's own anxiety was building. He had to find Stiles, and soon. Stiles began mumbling again, and Derek had to strain to catch something about The Jungle. Derek stepped on the gas so fast that his body jerked in his seat.

Stiles was mumbling about blood again, crying about how much there was and crying out that he needed help and god please I need some help, I can't feel my fingers. Derek jumped out of the car as soon as he got to The Jungle, not even bothering to turn the car off, only just thinking to close the door. Even with a sweatshirt on Derek could feel the chill of the air and could only hope that Stiles at least had a jacket on. He called out Stiles' name but only received a whimper over the phone. Derek raised his head up, taking a deep breath in hopes of catching Stiles' scent. He almost cursed as he got nothing, but the wind blew and with it came the familiar smell of vanilla and apples. It was faint but it was enough to get Derek running, his eyes wide open as he searched for Stiles.

Three blocks away, the scent was much stronger, the vanilla and apples now tinged with the metallic smell of blood. Derek could only hope that there wasn't a lot.

He stopped, listening for any sound of Stiles, running down an alley at the faintest whimper. It was Stiles. Derek had found him.

Derek could feel the panic rising in himself as he looked Stiles over, his stomach clenching painfully. Stiles was mostly naked, his shirt ripped down the front, his pants pulled down to his thighs. The back of his thighs were covered in blood (coming from what looked like knife wounds and...internal injuries) and semen, the two substances mixing together in a slowly-forming puddle on the ground. As Derek moved his eyes up, he saw more and more wounds. Stiles was covered in already-forming bruises and cuts as if this person wasn't just interested in the "sex"—this person wanted to hurt someone. There were barely any parts of Stiles that weren't cut up or bruised, the boy's body bared for the elements. His fingers were twitching and his lips were turning blue. Derek had no idea how long he had been out here.

Derek was quick to action, taking off his own sweatshirt and draping it over Stiles' shivering body, slowly and carefully pulling his pants back up. It worried Derek how Stiles barely responded—like he couldn't feel anything anymore. He just stared at the wall across from him. Derek wondered if Stiles had even registered that he was here. He picked up Stiles' phone, ending the ongoing call and pocketing it before reaching down for Stiles.

"Stiles, I'm gonna pick you up, okay?" Stiles' eyes drifted over to Derek, tear tracks marking his paled face. It was the only acknowledgement Derek received and he had no time to wait for a spoken response. As carefully as he could, Derek lifted Stiles up, holding the boy close to his chest in hopes of warming him up. Stiles let out a broken whimper as he was jarred, his hand pressing against Derek's chest as he tried to move away. The man just started off towards the Camaro. He settled Stiles in the backseat before getting in front and driving to the nearest hospital. He drove almost painfully slow, not wanting to jostle Stiles around too much. His eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror every few seconds, checking on Stiles who laid still in the back.

The drive to the hospital took much longer than Derek had hoped, jumping out of the car as soon as they got to the ER entrance, holding Stiles and rushing into the building, calling out for help (he could hear Stiles voice echoing in his head please god help me). As Stiles was rushed off in a flurry of people in white, Derek collapsed into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Glancing at the wall clock, Derek blinked at the time. What had felt like a lifetime had, in reality, only been 45 minutes. 45 minutes and Derek can't believe any of this. Couldn't believe that someone could do this. Especially to Stiles. While the boy did talk a lot (sometimes way more than he should) he was a good kid. He was helpful and loyal and fuck. Derek dragged his hand across his face. He sat there for five minutes, thinking about what had happened in the past almost-hour, when his phone began vibrating. He jumped, startled, and pulled out his phone only to see that it wasn't ringing—it was Stiles' phone that had been. He quickly pulled it out and answered it.

"Stiles! Where the hell are you?! It's almost 2 in the morning and you know your curfew is 12. You've got me worried to death, I don't kn—" Derek cut the sheriff off.

"Sheriff..." Derek winced at how dry he sounded, his voice almost strained. The line went silent before John answered with a confused "Derek? Where's Stiles? Why are you answering his phone?" Derek could feel his throat closing up, his mouth drying up. How could he explain all of this? How could he tell the sheriff that his son was in the hospital because he was physically and sexually assaulted and left out in the cold to die? He could hear the Sheriff calling his name, his voice more worried than before. "Sheriff, Stiles is...we're...he..." He couldn't form full sentences, his mind short-circuiting.

"Derek, tell me where you are. Tell me where you two are, please." (Stiles, I need you to tell me where you are, please). Derek could hear himself echoing in his head as he was finally able to speak and tell John where they were. He got to the hospital within minutes.

Derek could feel himself tearing up as he recounted everything to the sheriff, from the phone call to finding Stiles broken on the street. He watched the sheriff take it in, the tight frown on his face, his lip trembling, the furrow in his brow. When the doctor came, they both jumped up quickly, equally eager to hear about how Stiles was doing. Derek numbly nodded as the doctor said things like "raped" and "knife wounds" and "trauma".

When they were allowed to, they sat in Stiles' room by his bed, the sheriff reaching out to hold Stiles' hand in his. It was heartbreaking, watching the sheriff hold Stiles' hand and pray for him, the man looked disappointed in himself and broken. It was his son, his baby boy laying in the bed in front of him. Derek himself felt ashamed, he should've found Stiles faster or protected him or something. Anything. There was nothing he could do to help Stiles. His stomach twisted and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear John whispering to Stiles.

"I will find him. I will find that bastard and he will pay for hurting you. I promise, I swear."

Opening his eyes and looking at Stiles, Derek could only hope that the sheriff found this man before he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about 10 minutes, about 10 minutes ago. I just had a spark (haha, get it) of an idea and couldn't stop writing. This one isn't too graphic buuut there's the rape aftermath aspect to look at (kind of). The most chilling part of this (to me) is the phone call between Stiles and Derek. Imagine waking up to a phone call like that--it must be terrifying. As usual, find me [here](http://www.isaaclecter.tumblr.com) for requests, or just to talk~


End file.
